


soothsayer

by murdur



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: 2012 Loki escaping with the tesseract, F/M, Loki show wishes, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sifki Week, Sifki Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur
Summary: Loki has escaped space and time with the Tesseract, but he is haunted by a ghost from his past.
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45





	soothsayer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Sifki Week 2020's](https://sifkiweek2020.tumblr.com/) Day Two prompt of **haunted**.

Loki had a problem. He was the God of Mischief, armed with the tesseract and the Infinity Stone’s unlimited energy and yet he couldn't shake it. 

Couldn't shake _her,_ that is. 

She was always in the back of his mind. When he was walking down the dark alleys of Paris he imagined he could see her shadow flitting across the roads and rooftops. He could have sworn he saw her in a crowd outside of the Acropolis on a too-hot Athens day. Of course, he knew that it was impossible for her to have followed him, but it didn’t prevent the thrilling flip of his stomach at each apparition. He was being haunted.

He should be staying alert, keeping vigilant against the many, _many_ foes who would rejoice in separating his head from his neck, not harboring feelings for the woman who turned her back on him. 

_And you burn for her all the more because of it_. He ignored the thought as it tried to shove it's way into the forefront of his mind. 

_That was the past_ , he chided himself. Or _a_ past. Now, armed with the Space Stone and entering the Quantum realm, Loki had jumped not only to different places but also to different times. Times that came before the fall. 

He had left Asgard behind, and with his travels came the freedom of discovering who he truly was, time to work through the shock of his true heritage and all the lies that had been revealed in those chaotic, confusing days.

Loki leaned back in his chair, sipping a bitter coffee under the Moroccan sun in who knows what year, and ran his fingers through his hair. The back was getting long; he'd need to trim it again soon. 

And there was Sif again, clear in his mind's eye. She used to wrap her fingers in his hair, tugging until it pulled taut from his scalp, making his head tip where she wanted, giving her lips better access to the sensitive skin of his neck. And when he was undone in the dark, she would thread her fingers through his hair again, a calm and gentle touch until her motion stilled and she drifted to sleep in his arms.

Those quiet moments between the two of them were some of his favorites to recall. Until the bitter truth of reality fell back upon him and reminded him that the last time he saw the Lady Sif, she was standing before him in defiance, a contemptuous smirk pulling at her lips before she betrayed him and his commands.

He tossed his cup back down with a sigh, suddenly losing his desire to be among a crowd. He threw a handful of coins onto the table as he rose, trying to shake the sudden feeling of eyes on him. When he rounded the corner, he shifted his form, wearing a face and clothing that wouldn’t stand out in the market square.

He’d felt this feeling before, as if he isn’t alone. 

In Rome, looking for distraction in the Colosseum, the shine of a gladiator’s sword had disoriented him and for a moment it was the shieldmaiden staring up at him from the amphitheater’s floor. But when he’d rubbed a hand over his eyes, the mirage had dissipated and the fighter was a stranger. While walking the gardens of Kyoto’s Nijō castle, he swore he heard her voice calling his name, but only found water whispering in a bamboo fountain. 

He’d felt rushes of wind when there wasn’t a single window open; shivers up his spine that felt like cold fingers tracing his skin. Over and over, while whispering advice to the Russian Tsar or sipping warm beer on a California beach, he has felt her disapproving gaze upon him. But when he turned to look, nothing was ever there, or her specter was fleeting. His phantom lover, haunting his steps. 

He slipped into the alleyway and up the stairs to the room he had rented, letting his illusion fall and wearing his own face. Even without the crowd outside gazing upon him, his paranoia was hardly soothed.

Crossing the floor, Loki let his fingers find the clasp to his wrist watch, tossing it onto the dresser’s surface. Glancing up into the mirror, his heart stuttered at a movement, the shadows dancing in the corner. She wore armor, but it was different in this hallucination than in his memories; fuller, and a different shield. 

Meeting the ghost’s gaze through the reflection, he continued with his task, unwinding and removing the scarf from his neck. 

“Hello Sif,” it was hardly above a whisper. Part of him hoped it would be enough to dissolve her back into shadow, and yet he did not drop his eyes, hoping to gaze upon her for a moment longer.

“You miss me?” she smiled, her voice so achingly familiar. He couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face. Glorious and infuriating, her smile could wound in sharp mockery as easily as it could warm and charm.

“Yes.” He didn’t lie to her; not when the only thought in his mind every night was wondering if she was out there, thinking of him. The truth of it was torturous and he dropped his gaze away. He blew a sigh out of his nose, feeling foolish and maudlin. 

The blade was cold and sharp against his neck. He breathed in the scent of cinnamon and the electric tang of the Bifrost. 

“I missed you too.” 

Shit. His brain, drunk on sentimental yearning, was slow to react. Slow to realize that this was no aching dream.

Before he could pull the cube from his hidden pocket, summon an escape to his hands, he was on the floor. Sif’s body pinned him at his hips, one hand holding her sword steady against his pulse and the other deftly pulling his arms above his head, metal winding and locking to bind his wrists. 

“Good to see you, Loki,” Sif’s face was triumph and fury above him. Beautiful. 

He laughed and pushed his body upwards, not in an attempt to escape, he knew that was futile, but to confirm that this was indeed no hallucination. The Lady Sif. Real and there. 

“It’s good to see you too, Sif.”


End file.
